plane at Biggin tomorrow around noon.’
‘Check.’
‘Then book me a seat with British Airways
to New York on Saturday morning and tell Scott Carver, the C.E.O. of
Sanderson’s, to call an emergency meeting of the board of directors at their
head office at midday on Saturday.’
‘Okay, will do. What about the funeral?’
Alex asked.
‘I’ll organize that when I get back from
the States. I’ll have to go up and see the vicar at Minster at Stone personally
to arrange for the family vault to be opened so she can be buried there.
There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world to give her a good
sentimental send-off once we’ve got her home. The important thing is getting
that death certificate and getting her away from here before they look too
closely at her injuries and start asking questions.’
‘You think they might get suspicious then?’
‘I doubt it, but I don’t want to take any
chances. Tripping over and banging your head is a bit different from being
dropped three thousand feet onto solid ice. I’m hoping they’re not going to
look at her too closely.’
‘Let me know how you get on,’ Alex said.
‘When are you planning on coming back?’
‘As soon as I’ve got her loaded on the
medevac plane in the morning, I’ll fly straight back to the farm and then drive
up to town. I should be with you shortly after lunch.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then… don’t
forget to call me again later on, will you?’
‘I won’t. Speak to you later, bye.’
Once Ross had hung up, he quickly packed
the few things he’d brought with him into his small overnight bag then made his
way downstairs. He reached the ground floor and was about to walk into the
lobby when he realized that it was packed with reporters, no doubt waiting to
ambush him for his reaction to the discovery of his wife’s body. Having had to
duck out the back way from many a casino in the past, Ross put his experience
to good use and scooted down the hall and out through the kitchens. When he got
to the railway terminus, there was a train about to leave with the last few
rescue workers on board. He found a seat on his own and rode down the mountain
to Chamonix, lost in the thought of half a billion dollars.
.
David Wiseman had been having a tough day
driving on the English roads. The trip from Dover to Central London, where he
had a room booked at the County Hall Premier Inn, next to the London Eye, was
only seventy-six miles and should have taken him around two hours, but he’d got
hopelessly lost. He’d started out all right and had found his way onto the M20
motorway without any problem, but then he took a wrong turn and ended up on the
M25 London orbital motorway, or, as the locals called it, the biggest parking
lot in Britain.
He’d crawled clockwise around the M25 for
over three hours and had done one and a half circuits of London before the
awful truth that he was going in circles had dawned on him. He’d then decided
to abandon the motorway and had taken the next exit, which happened to be for
Watford, in north London, and had started asking for directions. He’d been
directed virtually street by street through Harrow, Wembley, Ealing, Chiswick,
Kensington, Brompton, Westminster and eventually to his hotel in Southwark, where
he’d just arrived, after nearly six hours on the road, completely exhausted.
During the drive up from Dover, he’d
managed to totally confuse and bewilder the two men who were tailing him. They
had been tearing their hair out with frustration as David had taken wrong
turning after wrong turning, doubled back on himself, gone the wrong way up one
way streets and even, at one stage, driven the wrong side of a keep-left sign.
By the time they reached the hotel and saw him check in, they were both
considering a change of career.
David had intended to drive out to Minster
at Stone, which was near Hereford, that afternoon, but since he’d only just
arrived at his hotel and it was
‘Check.’
‘Then book me a seat with British Airways
to New York on Saturday morning and tell Scott Carver, the C.E.O. of
Sanderson’s, to call an emergency meeting of the board of directors at their
head office at midday on Saturday.’
‘Okay, will do. What about the funeral?’
Alex asked.
‘I’ll organize that when I get back from
the States. I’ll have to go up and see the vicar at Minster at Stone personally
to arrange for the family vault to be opened so she can be buried there.
There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world to give her a good
sentimental send-off once we’ve got her home. The important thing is getting
that death certificate and getting her away from here before they look too
closely at her injuries and start asking questions.’
‘You think they might get suspicious then?’
‘I doubt it, but I don’t want to take any
chances. Tripping over and banging your head is a bit different from being
dropped three thousand feet onto solid ice. I’m hoping they’re not going to
look at her too closely.’
‘Let me know how you get on,’ Alex said.
‘When are you planning on coming back?’
‘As soon as I’ve got her loaded on the
medevac plane in the morning, I’ll fly straight back to the farm and then drive
up to town. I should be with you shortly after lunch.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then… don’t
forget to call me again later on, will you?’
‘I won’t. Speak to you later, bye.’
Once Ross had hung up, he quickly packed
the few things he’d brought with him into his small overnight bag then made his
way downstairs. He reached the ground floor and was about to walk into the
lobby when he realized that it was packed with reporters, no doubt waiting to
ambush him for his reaction to the discovery of his wife’s body. Having had to
duck out the back way from many a casino in the past, Ross put his experience
to good use and scooted down the hall and out through the kitchens. When he got
to the railway terminus, there was a train about to leave with the last few
rescue workers on board. He found a seat on his own and rode down the mountain
to Chamonix, lost in the thought of half a billion dollars.
.
David Wiseman had been having a tough day
driving on the English roads. The trip from Dover to Central London, where he
had a room booked at the County Hall Premier Inn, next to the London Eye, was
only seventy-six miles and should have taken him around two hours, but he’d got
hopelessly lost. He’d started out all right and had found his way onto the M20
motorway without any problem, but then he took a wrong turn and ended up on the
M25 London orbital motorway, or, as the locals called it, the biggest parking
lot in Britain.
He’d crawled clockwise around the M25 for
over three hours and had done one and a half circuits of London before the
awful truth that he was going in circles had dawned on him. He’d then decided
to abandon the motorway and had taken the next exit, which happened to be for
Watford, in north London, and had started asking for directions. He’d been
directed virtually street by street through Harrow, Wembley, Ealing, Chiswick,
Kensington, Brompton, Westminster and eventually to his hotel in Southwark, where
he’d just arrived, after nearly six hours on the road, completely exhausted.
During the drive up from Dover, he’d
managed to totally confuse and bewilder the two men who were tailing him. They
had been tearing their hair out with frustration as David had taken wrong
turning after wrong turning, doubled back on himself, gone the wrong way up one
way streets and even, at one stage, driven the wrong side of a keep-left sign.
By the time they reached the hotel and saw him check in, they were both
considering a change of career.
David had intended to drive out to Minster
at Stone, which was near Hereford, that afternoon, but since he’d only just
arrived at his hotel and it was
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